


Thorn in her Side

by Ellimac



Category: Farscape
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellimac/pseuds/Ellimac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chiana had initially thought of Jool like a thorn in her side, a constant pain. Now, she thought, that metaphor was more apt than ever: leave the thorn there long enough, and it becomes a part of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorn in her Side

Chiana had initially thought of Jool like a thorn in her side, a constant pain. Now, she thought, that metaphor was more apt than ever: leave the thorn there long enough, and it becomes a part of you. The idea of life without Jool was the idea of removing the thorn, pulling it straight out of all the scar tissue, and bleeding out on the floor because of it. Jool belonged there. She had been an accident, but there was no getting rid of her now.

They didn’t say “I love you.” It just wasn’t something that came up between them. For Chiana, it reminded her too much of D’Argo, who she hadn’t been afraid of leading on, but should have been. She was more in love with Jool than anyone she had ever been with, but it was better and easier to show it with snippy insults, casual nicknames that seemed derogatory to the outside observer, and when everyone else was asleep, eager and desperate sex. She didn’t know why Jool didn’t say it, and worried sometimes that this time she was the one being led on.

Chiana did not admire Jool. Admiration was an emotion for outsiders. Chiana loved Jool, worshiped her sometimes, desired her, coveted her, craved her, but she could never bring herself to admire her. She held her selfishly in the night, breathing in the smell of her and more often than not several of her hairs. She touched her surreptitiously when others were around, reaching for a hand, something that could seem accidental if anyone were watching, standing too close, feeling her warmth radiate off her skin.

Jool, for her part, seemed to return the interest. Jool’s responses to Chiana’s actions were sometimes shocking: Chiana’s aggressive flirtation was met with nothing short of a pounce when they were alone in the dark that night, skin against skin, lips to lips, tongues pushing against each other and lips and teeth. The sex was good, better than D’Argo (the Luxan couldn’t be blamed, exactly; he had no idea about Nebari anatomy, and though he tried, and did very well on some occasions, they simply couldn’t be satisfied by the same kind of sex), and the pillow talk afterward was sleepy and amiable, trailing into silence as they both drifted off. Chiana got used to Jool’s arm over her, or her arm over Jool, their bodies together under the sheets. Sometimes there was no sex, just languid kisses, hands skittering over skin as they mapped out each other’s bodies. Chiana had never before seen the use in the phrase “in love with,” but she did now.

The nature of their relationship was not discussed. Chiana felt herself swaying into dangerous territory doing this, poised on the same cliff D’Argo had found himself on, but now the positions were reversed, Chiana playing the lovesick fool and Jool playing the enigma, the one for whom this may mean nothing. “Good in bed” didn’t translate to “in love.”

“What an awkward phrase,” Jool commented, after they had accidentally witnessed a scene between Crichton and Aeryn, with Crichton confessing not for the first time his affection for her. “In love. It sounds like you’re swimming in it.”

“I thought so too,” Chiana said. Her finger meandered down Jool’s belly, ending in a swirl around her navel. “It’s so clunky.”

“Who wants to swim in love? I mean, it’s not as if it’s a place,” Jool continued. Her gaze was focused somewhere on the ceiling, and Chiana’s whole attention was on Jool’s bare skin. She imagined pressing her lips to it, flicking her tongue into the depression of her belly button. “It’s just a feeling.”

“I wouldn’t call it just,” Chiana said.

“No? You loved before?”

“Yeah. I loved my brother.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jool’s belly contracted as she pushed herself up on her elbows, and Chiana’s gaze was drawn her way. “You ever love someone _romantically_?”

Chiana quirked a smile. Her heart was beating against her ribs so loud that surely Jool could hear it. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jool sat up fully, and Chiana made to do so as well, until Jool caught her head and guided her to a kiss, the press of their lips soft and unhurried, and Chiana felt a shudder go through her. It started at her toes and worked its way up to the top of her head. It was all she could do not to scream out a victory cry.

“Me too,” Jool said, as soon as the kiss broke.

“I love—” Chiana started, but Jool kissed her again.

“You’ll ruin the moment,” Jool admonished.

“What moment is that?”

“The moment that we’re about to have sex,” Jool said, clearly exasperated. She fell back onto the bed, dragging Chiana down on top of her. “Come on, you’ve already got my top off. Let’s get with the foreplay.”

“I love you,” Chiana said, just to be obstinate.

Jool huffed and turned her face to the side, but not before Chiana saw her grin. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

“I love you too, you stubborn Nebari,” Jool said, her voice muffled.

The words, once said, didn’t become a regular part of their relationship. It was enough to know. It was enough, on lazy nights when all they did was kiss, that every kiss meant the same, and on the livelier nights she could hear it every time Jool whispered her name. The words themselves were unimportant. Chiana had always been a woman of action. All the better when the actions themselves spoke volumes with every twitch.


End file.
